Prudence nodded. “I was very aware of you, Will, but, as I have said, you frightened me. You were so . . . so fierce in your attentions.”
“Only because of my attraction to you, Prudence. Even then—” He sighed. “I told myself, when you chose Porlonsby, that my feelings would abate in time. Unfortunately, they didn’t. So I miserably awaited word that you had married that stalwart young man. For several years I glanced through the marriage announcements in the paper, to see if that fateful day had arrived. But it never did.”
“No, it never did,” she said sadly.
A look of pain crossed his face. “Did you love him so much then, Prudence? Is there no chance that in time you will come to hold me in regard?”
“Oh, Will, there is so much I too should confess to you.” She laid her cheek against his, her head bowed. “I suppose I loved Allen. Certainly I felt safe with him, and treasured. He was so very
kind
to me.”
“I don’t understand why he didn’t return to marry you,” Ledbetter said softly. “How could he have not hastened back at the first opportunity?”
“Yes, that is what I have wondered all these years,” she admitted, her face still pressed against his. “He accumulated quite a fortune, as you have seen for yourself, William. Surely he could have returned after a year or two, with less, but sufficient to make marriage possible.”
She could feel the tears start, as they had many times over the last years. As they spilled over and rolled down her cheeks, she pulled back from Ledbetter so that he wouldn’t feel them. But he cradled her in his arms, his hand pressing her head against his shoulder. “Cry, then,” he whispered. “Mourn him properly, my love. Time will ease that pain.”
Prudence wiped angrily at the tears. “It’s not for love of him that I cry, Will. I would that it were. It is the awful humiliation I’ve felt at being abandoned by him. He
could
have come back; he
could
have married me. In truth, he chose not to.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know. He never explained. He never said he wasn’t coming back. Year after year passed and I was left to put a brave face on my ‘engagement.’ My sisters were impatient for me to wed, my parents began to grow suspicious of Allen’s intentions. He could not cry off, of course.”
“No, of course not.”
“So I wrote, offering to do so myself. Oh, a very long time ago. He never responded to that letter. It was as if I’d never written. So I wrote again, and again. But, though he wrote, he never addressed that issue. I was at my wit’s end when word of his death reached me. A local epidemic of cholera had claimed his life. His will, leaving me all of his property, had been made at the time of his departure for India. I will never know why he didn’t return.”
“But you suspect—what?”
Prudence drew a shaky breath. “Oh, that he fell in love there, I suppose. Or even married, and was ashamed to tell me. Or, simply that he found he had no real attachment to me, once he was far away. I would have gone to India. I suggested that, too, but he did not reply.”
Her tears had dried now. In fact, she felt a great deal better, having told him of her impossible situation regarding Porlonsby. She smiled a little mistily, saying, “I’m afraid that’s why your leaving me made me feel abandoned, Will. Foolish of me, perhaps, but I could not bear feeling such humiliation again.”
“I’m sorry, Prudence. It was thoughtless of me. And I didn’t even
want
to leave you,” he admitted, rueful. “Nor did I have to leave to solve this ludicrous puzzle, as it turns out.”
He bent to kiss her, his lips lingering on hers. “The love I felt for you in London was a pale thing compared with what I feel tonight, Prudence. Every day since we’ve been married my affection for you has grown. I love what a splendid woman you are—how generous and clever and kind you are. And I’m grateful that I feel myself a better man just being with you. I’m afraid you won’t agree with me, since I have been so careless of your sensibilities, but believe me that I want nothing more than to make you happy.”
“You
do
make me happy, Will,” she said, feeling the tears prick at her eyes once more. “It is I who have been foolish beyond permission. If I had not feared your virility when first we met, we might have come to an agreement years ago.”
“Let’s assume this is the way it was meant to be, and not suffer from regrets, my love. We were meant to be older, and wiser, when we came together.”
“I’ve been thinking a great deal about our coming together,” she said, her cheeks flushing. “You mustn’t think that our physical intimacy is the only reason that I love you, though. I knew as soon as you showed up at Colwyck that my attraction to you in London had not been illusory. Like you, even the pressures on me would not have induced me to marry someone I did not wish to marry.”
“With your inheritance as a dowry, you could have had your pick of any number of eligible gentlemen.”
Prudence shrugged. “Possibly. Thank heaven you happened to be at the Rightons’.”
Ledbetter laughed. “I didn’t
happen
to be there, Prudence. Since I had learned of your fiancé’s demise, I’d angled for a way to bring myself to your notice again. And not because of your inheritance.”
“Did you?” His bride sighed. “I think perhaps it is time you brought yourself to my notice again, Will. There are parts of me that feel a little abandoned just now. They wonder when you plan to attend to them.”
“Ah, I stand corrected, my lady.” Ledbetter’s hand came to cup the swell of her breast. “Is this one of those parts?”
“Yes,” she said, “but there are others.”
“In that case, I think we had best adjourn to my bed. If it pleases your ladyship.”
“It pleases me very much.”
So Ledbetter lifted her in his arms and carried her across the room to their marriage bed, where he managed in short order to allay any fears that might have disturbed his new bride’s complete and total happiness.
Copyright © 2000 by Elizabeth Rotter
Originally published by Signet (0451200705)
Electronically published in 2007 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.